The package arrives from Etsy and I can hear the pieces clinking inside while I carry in the mail. My body flushes in anticipation when I think about surprising Jamie with it.
I put the mail down on the cluttered counter, pushing aside dishes and groceries to make room. Our tiny apartment in the heart of Brooklyn is too damn small. I pull out the leather cuffs and collar, the little bag of metal letters custom ordered to spell out BUTCH, DYKE, BOY and TOY. I string the letters on the collar to spell out BOY TOY. I smile to myself, imagining all the fun I can have wearing these leather pieces.
I debate putting the collar and cuffs on myself and waiting for Jamie naked in bed, but I decide instead that I want the ritual of having them put the leather on me themself.
When they get home from work, I tell them, "I have a surprise for you. Something came in the mail today."
"Oh?" they ask, quirking an eyebrow. First they walk over to peck me on the lips. We always kiss when we come home. We've lived in this little apartment for two and a half years, Jamie working as a museum assistant director and me working from home as a computer programmer. They get home from work at 6:15 every day, and we kiss and make dinner together in our crowded kitchen. The evening sunset lights our home in a warm orange glow, making Jamie's brown eyes look like citrine gemstones.
I motion to the package on the coffee table and hide my smile while we sit down on the living room couch and they open it.
Their eyes darken with lust when they see what I've bought. They smirk at me and ask, "Boy toy?"
My cheeks flush and I nod.
"Do you want to be a boy toy for me, baby?" they gently tease. I get redder, feeling embarrassed and turned on.
"What do the other letters say?" they ask, curious.
"Butch and dyke," I answer.
Jamie laughs generously. "I love you," they say, and kiss me with a peck on the lips.
They pull out the wrist and ankle cuffs too and admire the leatherwork. The cuffs are black leather with soft purple on the inside, so they'll be comfortable to wear but they'll make me feel hot, too.
"Tell me, love, what do you want to happen when you wear these?" Jesse asks, shifting from friendly to flirty, lowering their voice and leaning in close to look me in the eyes while they wait for my answer.
First I stammer, "Well, you know, being tied down with the cuffs and fucked." They nod, waiting patiently for me to say more. "And maybe yanked around with a leash with this collar," I add.
We settle back onto the couch together, adjusting to sit close to each other. I reach behind their head and play with their hair, watching their brown curly hair bounce under my fingertips so that I don't have to make direct eye contact. It's not always easy for me to talk about sexual fantasies - something in my throat closes up when I think about it, and it takes me a minute to get comfortable. They know how to wait for me.
I continue to play with their hair as I talk more about the fantasy I really want.
I'm wearing the leather cuffs, the BOY TOY collar, a leash, dykey little boxers. We're at a tomboy sex party. We relax on couches and chairs, listening to music and passing a joint around and talking about butch shit.
I get passed around with the joint.
I sit on butch laps and hold it to their lips, or take a hit myself and exhale it into their mouth with a little bit of tongue and teeth. They can feel me up and do whatever they want with my body. Some of them suck on my tits. Some of them rub my butch cunt through my soaked boxers. Some of them push me to my knees to suck their cocks and they call me a good little cocksucker and I feel blushy and hot.
By the time I get passed back to Jamie, the joint is out and my boxers are a mess. They tsk and shake their head. "Dirty little boy toy... So wet already? These are useless now, take them off." I do. "Does Daddy's boy need to be punished for being a slut?" I bite my lip and nod, trying hard not to make a sound. "Bend over." I do, on my hands and knees in full view of the room of butches. I can feel how wet my pussy is, untouched.
The yelp pops out of my mouth before I feel the sting of their hand on my ass. Then I moan as it fades to tingles of pleasure. "Such a slutty little boy toy," they say. Smack. "Your cunt getting so wet around all these butches." Smack. "You want their cocks in you, baby?" I whimper. Smack. "I said, do you want their cocks in you?" "Yes Daddy!" I cry out. Smack. "Good boy." They squeeze and rub my sore ass.
"Do you want to find out how much butch cock you can take?"
"Yes, Daddy," I moan. And then we do.
When I finish describing the fantasy to Jamie, my mouth is dry and my cheeks are red and I'm a little out of breath. Their hands have been rubbing my thighs while I talk and it's been distracting me and turning me on.
"Fuck," Jamie murmurs. They look down at my lips and back to my eyes. They're trying very hard not to kiss me right now.
"Do you want to try those on?" they ask, glancing at the cuffs and collar.
I swallow. Lick my lips. Nod.
"Use your words, love," they gently instruct. I call them a soft dom when they top me like this, sweetly undressing me with their voice.
"Yes," I say, obedient, always happy to be told what to do by their quiet but insistent words. I like direction from a kind top who wants to guide me into submission. Every once in a while we play with scenes where they're a mean Daddy, and that gets me hot too, but I appreciate the parameters of the planning and aftercare if they're gonna play bad top.
"Do you want to take your clothes off, baby?"
I answer by quietly pulling my t-shirt off, unbuttoning my jeans, pulling them down my legs. I sit back down in my boyshorts. Their eyes roam my body, still drinking me in appreciatively after all these years.
